


The Upper Hand

by MrTrumpet



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Bottom!Kimblee, M/M, Top!Miles, almost canon compliant, mild bondage, mild choking, set during briggs arc but some slight deviations for the sake of......well pwp basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 01:38:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14781176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrTrumpet/pseuds/MrTrumpet
Summary: A slight canon deviation set during the Briggs Arc. Miles is equal parts intrigued and disgusted by Kimblee, whereas Kimblee simply finds Miles fascinating. Maybe they'll both find a way to indulge that fascination...





	The Upper Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in 6 to 7 years, and I wrote most of it while pretty drunk, and edited it while still sobering up, so please let me know if you find any typos or errors. I meant to just write a pwp but for some reason a bunch of exposé happened first! Sorry if it seems to jump around or not be very flowing in terms of plot.
> 
> A character named 'Patricia' is mentioned very briefly, in passing. To clear up any confusion, Patricia is a fanon name for the character who is the female doctor in Briggs.

Miles’ footsteps echoed down the long, white hallway. He peered cautiously at Kimblee, who was walking a few steps in front of him, trying to analyze any irregularities in his gait, any discomfort at all. Yet the man appeared to be completely healthy, despite Miles having seen him bedridden at the hospital just the day before.

Miles cleared his throat. "Tell me something." Kimblee stopped and turned around slightly, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at him. "Yesterday you were in the hospital, near death, after a serious injury. Today you show up here, seemingly completely healed. What sort of magic can do that?"

"That doesn’t concern you," Kimblee said, turning back around and continuing on down the hallway. "Just take me to Lieutenant General Raven."

"Wait a minute. You didn’t answer my question."

"Like I said, it doesn’t concern you." The authority in Kimblee’s voice got Miles’ attention. Who did he think he was, this outsider, this _murderer_ , trying to tell Miles what to do? It was Miles’ duty to keep the fort safe, and that included knowing everybody’s intentions. In several large strides he caught up with Kimblee and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, yanking him back around. He felt a tiny amount of satisfaction at the surprised look on Kimblee’s face.

"It is not your authority to decide what does and does not concern me. You may be General Raven’s guest, but Fort Briggs is a close-knit place. We have to know every detail of what goes on in here in order to keep our defenses strong."

At this, Kimblee seemed to pause, and then let a slow, somewhat menacing, smile creep across his face. "While I admire your dedication to your post, Major, there are some things I am bound by duty not to discuss. After all, these matters are affairs of national security. I’m sure you understand that I am as loyal to my mission as you are."

"Don’t talk to me about duty and loyalty." Miles was almost surprised by the harshness in his own voice, but something about Kimblee’s words, and Kimblee himself, just seemed to set him off. "You gave up your allegiance to this country and its people long ago."

"Oh?" Kimblee’s grin seemed to grow wider, and Miles sensed that he had said the wrong thing. After all, the man had a reputation for finding the smallest weakness in another’s words and actions. "You mean the Ishvalan War of Extermination?" Miles just stared at his face, glad that his sunglasses would at least hide any emotion in his eyes. "I’m surprised you think that what I did there was an act of disloyalty to my country. I only did what the Fuhrer ordered, even if that meant killing. I’m sure you’ve had to kill to defend your country before, or are your dealings with Drachma only pleasant and genteel?"

"No." Miles tried to choose his next words carefully. "But we only did what we had to do."

"And so did I. Do you want me to enlighten you, Major? Do you want me to tell you everything I did there in Ishval, all the men and women and children I slaughtered, all that I accomplished for this country?" Kimblee was leaning in closer, something like glee on his face. "Do you want to know exactly how your countrymen died?"

With each word, Miles felt a rising wave of anger that he tried to quell, but it was difficult. Kimblee really knew how to toy with a person’s emotions. "Shut up, Kimblee."

"Oh, now that’s no way to talk to an esteemed guest of Fort Briggs. Are you sure you don’t want to know every detail?" Kimblee was closing the space between them with each word. "I’m sure you’ve wondered about how it all went down. I can assure you, they all died quickly. You may hate my brand of alchemy but you can’t deny that it’s efficient. Or would you rather that your kind died slowly, by regular bullets and weapons, than at the hands of a man like me?"

Miles almost wanted to say _I’d rather they didn’t die at all_ , but he knew that would be going against one of the Fuhrer’s direct orders, and you had to be careful not to show any signs of dissent, especially here at Briggs. So he just stayed silent and glared at Kimblee, fighting to keep his hands from shaking.

"I don’t hate Ishvalans, you know. If they had ordered us to kill any other people for the greater good, I would have done it. I just loved the _work_. It was _beautiful_." Kimblee seemed to be rambling now, which Miles had already learned he had a tendency to do. "So why do you hate me so, Major? Just because I killed your countrymen? Just because I took pride in the work that I did, enjoyed the screaming, the slaughter, the way I brought whole districts to the ground in one clap—"

The steadily swelling torrent of anger broke through. "That’s enough, Kimblee!" He closed the small gap between them and shoved Kimblee against the wall, right arm pinning him by the throat, and leaned in close. "You may not be injured anymore but don’t think you have the upper hand here. Make one wrong move and I’ll show you what Briggs men can do."

A brief flicker of shock showed across Kimblee’s face, before his expression settled into something curious. "So is this the Briggs way?" He gestured as much as he could with his body trapped against the wall, and Miles’ anger had ebbed enough for him to notice the position they were in. Almost his entire body pressed against Kimblee’s, his arm still against the other’s throat, and their faces close enough that Miles could feel the slight tickle of Kimblee’s hair against his cheek. Miles made to move back, but Kimblee leaned in closer and said, voice a little raspier than usual, "Is that all? Why don’t you press harder?" And Miles almost subconsciously pressed down more against Kimblee’s throat but then— _what? He, what?_

The surprise must have showed on Miles’ face, because Kimblee tilted his head back and looked almost frustrated. "If you won’t follow up on your threat then why don’t you just stop wasting my time, and take me to General Raven?"

Miles took a few steps back, letting the arm that was pinning Kimblee fall away. "I…apologize. I let my emotions get the better of me."

He could swear that Kimblee looked disappointed. "Ah well. There is nothing more to be gained from this conversation." He stared at Miles, his eyes unreadable. There was a heavy beat of silence where Miles’ thoughts were buzzing with everything and nothing all at once.

The sudden sound of a door opening at the end of the hallway snapped him out of his stupor. "Major Miles!" a soldier called out. He motioned for Miles to come closer. Miles cast a sideways glance at Kimblee, who had schooled his features into a neutral expression, as if nothing had just happened. He stepped down the hallway towards the soldier, closing the door behind him so Kimblee could not hear. The soldier whispered, "Operation complete. No need to buy more time." Miles nodded and went back out into the hallway, feeling a surge of relief.

"Apparently no one can find General Raven."

"Oh, really?" Kimblee had been leaning against the wall, but now stepped closer to Miles.

He had to make this convincing. He had already learned just how much Kimblee could see through other people’s facades and pick their words apart. "That appears to be the case. This is bad…The fort may be a stronghold but it’s no place for outsiders to go wandering around alone. If anything happened to the general…."

"Actually, I would welcome it. If anything happened to General Raven, I have full permission to act as I see fit. That order came down from the Fuhrer himself." He smiled, adjusting his hat. "Right now, my actions represent the will of our president. Do you understand?"

Miles could only stare, turning the words over in his head, and trying to figure out how to fit this new development into everything else that had happened so far. He tried to come up with an answer, a retort, anything, but seemed unable.

Turning back around, Kimblee shrugged and put his hands in his pockets, starting to walk back down the hallway. "So if you could, have a car drive me down to the base of the mountain. I have some business there." He strode down the hall and was out the other door before Miles could respond.

* * *

Several hours later, Miles was trying to get through to the command at the base of the mountain, but a heavy storm was brewing up, and the phones kept crackling out. It appeared Kimblee’s request for a car to drive down the mountain would have to wait until the snowstorm calmed down, which could take hours. He didn’t relish having to tell the man this.

Well. First he had to find Kimblee. He checked in the common room, Kimblee’s room, even his own room. The man was nowhere to be found. Had he tried to go looking for General Raven himself…? Finally, the new transfer, a man named Vato Falman, whom Miles hadn’t spoken to much yet, said that he remembered Kimblee heading out onto one of the outside overlooks. _In this weather?_ Miles hoped the storm wasn’t bad yet. If anyone went outside during the worst of the storm, they would likely freeze or be badly hurt. But wait, why was he worrying about the guy? Why did he care? He didn’t, not really, right? It was just his natural instinct to think about others. Even if they didn’t deserve it. All these thoughts speeding around in his head. Miles willed his brain to shut up as he pushed open a door to one of the outlook posts.

He was met with only some slight snow flurries, but no worse than could be expected at Briggs. It appeared the storm hadn’t quite started brewing yet. Looking to either side, he spotted Kimblee leaning against the railing a ways down. Mindful of the icy path, he carefully made his way to Kimblee, who he now saw was staring out at the snowy landscape, deep in thought, a cigarette hanging from his fingers.

"Kimblee."

The man looked up at him, almost surprised to see Miles there, as if he had forgotten where he was. Miles wondered what he had been thinking about that had gotten him so lost in thought. _Probably the war…_ he thought in disgust.

"Oh. Hello, Major. Any news about the cars?"

"Unfortunately, there is a heavy snowstorm predicted for this afternoon. It would be dangerous to try to have a car sent now."

"But the weather seems fine. For Briggs, at least." Kimblee gestured broadly at the snowy expanse.

"Yes, but the weather here can turn quickly. We have resident weather experts who forecasted a severe storm. If we sent a car down now, it could get stuck halfway down the mountain in the blizzard, and that could be deadly."

Kimblee shrugged. "If you say so. Tomorrow, then." He seemed much less bothered by the news than Miles had thought he would be. The guy really was unreadable. One minute he would be on the offensive, picking apart your every word and action to rile you up, and the next minute he took a serious wrench in his plans as no big deal. Miles found himself wondering what sort of strange machinations were going on in his head.

"I thought you wanted to drive down as soon as possible?"

"That eager to get rid of me? No, it can wait until tomorrow. I don’t mind an extra night here. You are such a fascinating presence, Major."

 _Fascinating?_ _What the hell?_ The guy really was weird. Miles absolutely didn’t know what to say to that, so he found himself glad when Kimblee continued without waiting for a response. 

"Want one?" Kimblee held out the pack of cigarettes.

"No thanks. I used to smoke when I was younger. I don’t do it very often now."

"Hm. Interesting." Kimblee’s gaze returned to the snowy land in front of them.

Miles just looked at him through his sunglasses, wondering what could possibly be interesting about that.

* * *

He could hear the wind howling outside, even through the thick walls of the fort. Briggs’ meteorologists really weren’t wrong when they said there would be a hell of a snowstorm today. From the few tiny windows the fort had, he could only see a blazing flurry of white. It was lucky they hadn’t send a car down the mountain. If they had, that car would never have made it all the way down, and the mountain patrol would have found it the next morning, all occupants frozen to death. That had happened before, to foolish travelers. Miles didn’t like to think about it.

"Quite a storm outside, hm?"

Miles had been so concentrated on the blizzard outside that he hadn’t noticed Kimblee enter the common room. "Yes," was all he said, not really wanting to attempt a conversation with the man. He still wasn’t sure what to think of their previous interactions.

"It’s a good thing we didn’t drive a car down after all."

"Yes."

"Not very talkative tonight?" Kimblee asked. 

"I suppose not."

"It’s more of a quiet evening anyway, I imagine. The blizzard lends something of an enclosed world, doesn’t it? You can’t connect to the outside. All that’s left here is you and me."

A somewhat odd thing to say. Miles glanced briefly at Kimblee, who was leaning against the table with a mug of coffee in hand.

"Well, and all the other inhabitants of Fort Briggs."

Kimblee smiled. "Yes, but they don’t matter much now, do they?"

_And what was that supposed to mean?_

Miles now turned to fully face Kimblee, and realized the other man was rather dressed down, at least from his normal outfit. His hair was in a loose bun, and besides his regular slacks and shoes, he was only wearing his button-down shirt and his tie, which was rather loosely fastened. It couldn’t help but be somewhat distracting. For a second Miles’ gaze followed the curve of Kimblee’s throat down to the tiny bit of exposed skin visible due to his unbuttoned shirt collar. Then he remembered where he was, who he was, who the other man was…He averted his eyes quickly. Damn. He hoped Kimblee hadn’t noticed.

But he had noticed, judging by the way Kimblee’s smirk slid up his face. He took several steps to close the distance between them, still leaving enough space so as not to cause alarm, but close enough to get Miles’ attention.

"Won’t you sit with me a while," Kimblee gestured to the chairs scattered around the table in the common room, " _Major?_ "

What was the emphasis on _Major_ supposed to mean? Was it deference? Was it disrespect? Was it…? Miles hated that Kimblee made so many confused thoughts swirl around his head. He wished his brain could just shut up when he was in the other man’s presence, but it wouldn’t. Kimblee raised too many questions for him.

…Hell, maybe it was time to have some of those questions answered, for once.

"Fine." Miles brushed past Kimblee, who looked both surprised and pleased at Miles’ acquiescence, to grab a mug from the cupboard and fill it up with coffee. He felt Kimblee’s gaze on his back while he busied himself filling his coffee with just the right amount of cream and sugar that he liked. Not quite able to hold back his natural hospitality, he turned around, proffering the coffee flavorings. "Do you want any?"

"No thanks. I prefer it black."

"Even though Briggs coffee tastes like dirt?"

Kimblee let out an amused huff. "Even then."

Miles shrugged and pulled out a chair at the table to sit. When Kimblee sat down and took a sip of his own coffee, Miles automatically said, "That’ll be 100 cenz."

The other man looked at him, surprised. Damn. He hadn’t meant to joke like that with Kimblee. He had just grown so used to teasing visitors, because Buccaneer and Patricia did it all the time.

Then Kimblee’s surprised face slid into a strangely pure-looking grin. "I don’t have 100 cenz on me, but perhaps I can pay you back later." He tilted his face down to take a sip of coffee, and a stray strand of hair slid from out of his hair tie and into his face.

Miles couldn’t help but grin back. Then he remembered who the other man was, and the smile slid slowly from his face. Kimblee really did have a mercurial way of being. One moment hostile and calculating, the next it seemed he was laughing and pleased at life.

"What other sorts of fun pranks do you play on the visitors at Fort Briggs?" Kimblee asked. He tucked the stray hairs behind his ear, an action which Miles couldn’t help but be fixated on.

Miles started to think. "Well…"

* * *

By evening, some hours later, the storm was still hefty, but by experience Miles knew that it was starting to die down. He was wandering around his room, tidying up this and that, getting ready to go to bed. Suddenly, he heard the turn of the doorknob. He stood straight, ready to be at attention, expecting General Armstrong. She was the only one who really had the authority to just enter people’s rooms with no warning.

"I’ve noticed the way you look at me," Kimblee said, closing the door of Miles’ room behind him. He took off his hat and laid it down on the table. "You want this too, don’t you?"

After quickly getting over his initial shock at this unexpected visitor, Miles swallowed, hard. It was difficult to think when Kimblee was looking at him like that.

"Well?" Kimblee asked, already fiddling at the buttons on his jacket.

About a million different things flitted through Miles’ head. He was so tired of weighing possibilities and consequences and decisions. "Fine," he said.

Kimblee almost seemed surprised by the answer, but then his expression turned to something pleased, and much more wanting. He closed the space between them suddenly, lifting up on his toes to press his lips against Miles’.

Not expecting that, Miles almost pulled away, but found the kiss nice, even though Kimblee’s lips were chapped from the cold Briggs air. Although Kimblee was trying to hide it, he seemed almost needy, and desperate, so Miles indulged him a bit and pushed him back to the small cot on the side of the room. The backs of Kimblee’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he fell down onto it. Miles settled down with his knees on either side of Kimblee’s hips, and Kimblee started tugging at his uniform, fumbling with the buttons and straps.

"Need some help?" Miles said, pushing away Kimblee’s hands to undo the uniform on his own. Kimblee just huffed, trying to hide how flushed he already was. After undoing the jacket and pushing it off his shoulders, Miles couldn’t help but stare, at Kimblee lying across the bed, panting ever so slightly, looking so vulnerable. "How do you want to do this?"

Kimblee stared at him, for once no deceitful or treacherous grin on his face. "I want you to fuck me."

The way he said it so bluntly and openly made Miles’ heart skip a beat. He wondered what else he could get Kimblee to say, or plead, even. He would find that out in a little bit. For now…

"Good," is all he said, before dragging Kimblee abruptly along the bed to lay him down proper.  He tangled their legs together, grabbing his shirt and clumsily undoing the buttons, while kissing him roughly, then kissing his way down Kimblee’s neck. That long, pale neck, he wanted to mar it, wanted to leave his mark there so Kimblee knew just who was in charge here. Evidently Kimblee wanted it too, because he started to make these broken-off little noises as Miles kissed along Kimblee’s neck and down to his throat and collarbones. But a visible mark would lead to too many questions, so Miles just settled for mouthing at the space in the hollow of his throat while finally sliding off the last of Kimblee’s many layers, and discarding them somewhere at the end of the bed.

He leaned back to get a good look, and also to get a breather, because he didn’t like to admit it but damn Kimblee turned him on. Even just a little bit of making out and groping had gotten him pretty flustered. Miles wasn’t the only one, evidently, as Kimblee lay on the sheets, flushed and panting, and staring at Miles with those wanting eyes. Miles took a few seconds to run his hands down Kimblee’s chest, pausing at the large scar on his abdomen. Kimblee shivered, and made a small noise that he couldn’t quite stop in his throat. Was he trying to hold back his moans? Miles would tear those out of him soon enough, he desperately wanted to hear them.

Miles slid off the bed, relishing the disappointed look on Kimblee’s face, to grab a small bottle from a drawer in his nightstand.

"Oh?" Kimblee had a smug grin, as if he had the upper hand in this situation.

"Don’t get any ideas. We don’t fraternize here. This is only for myself. The air is cold and dry here, it gets pretty painful to jerk off without any lube."

"If you say so," Kimblee leaned back, still grinning. Miles would wipe that self-satisfied grin off his face soon enough.

Miles climbed on to the bed, straddling Kimblee’s hips, and pulling off his slacks. He was still wearing his own uniform-issue pants, along with the utility belt that held his gun, handcuffs, and other various tools. He had an idea. He pulled off the belt, digging out the handcuffs, and forcefully pinned Kimblee’s arms above his head. Kimblee didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow, and grinned even wider. Miles handcuffed his hands to the railing along the bed. It may not stop Kimblee’s alchemy, but at least he had some semblance of power over the other man.

"I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing, Miles," he said, giving an experimental tug on the handcuffs, which stayed fast, to Miles’ satisfaction.

"It’s ‘Major’ to you," was all Miles said, pulling off Kimblee’s boxers.

Kimblee continued talking, for whatever reason, as Miles smeared his fingers with lube. "You know, those handcuffs don’t do anything. You think you have the upper hand here, but really you—" Kimblee cut off abruptly with a sharp intake of breath as Miles pushed a finger inside him.

Leaning over Kimblee with his other arm, while slowly thrusting his finger in and out, Miles started mouthing at his throat again. "Why don’t I show you who’s in charge here, hmm?"

"Hnng," was all Kimblee could say as Miles pushed another finger in. Maybe he was being too rough, but Kimblee liked it. Besides, Miles didn’t particularly care. This was someone he absolutely needn’t be gentle with.

Kimblee tilted his head back, trying to get at Miles’ mouth, and Miles took the hint, kissing him hard. He slid another finger in, relishing the small, faltering noises Kimblee was trying to hold back. Kimblee was starting to roll his hips into Miles’, ever so slightly, but it was still noticeable. He must be getting desperate. Miles wanted it too, so badly, to sink in and see just how much he could make Kimblee lose control, but still. He wanted to see how much Kimblee wanted it. How much he could make him submit. Miles started grinding down as much as he could into Kimblee’s hips with his arm trapped between them, thrusting another finger in, and this time Kimblee actually whined.

"Miles…"

"I told you, it’s ‘Major’." Miles’ voice was a little rougher than usual.

"Fuck…I—"

"Are you going to obey me or not? This is what you want, isn’t it?" Miles stole a glance at Kimblee’s face. The man was already pretty far gone, cheeks flushed, grinding his cock up into Miles’ hips, desperate for some friction.

"M-major, I want…"

Without giving Kimblee any chance to continue, Miles used his free hand to roughly yank on Kimblee’s ponytail, forcing his head back and exposing the long, smooth line of his throat. He began licking along his neck, while thrusting and spreading his fingers up inside Kimblee.

" _Fuck_ , Miles, I want, just _fuck_ me," Kimblee gasped.

It was so hard not to give in to his pleas, but Miles wanted to see if he could push Kimblee just one bit farther. "And how do you ask nicely?"

By this time Kimblee had already lost all sense of pride. " _Please_ Major just fuck me, please sir—"

Miles hadn’t expected Kimblee to throw that ‘sir’ in there, but he liked it, he really really liked it, and he couldn’t hold back anymore. Hurriedly, and a little clumsily, he pulled his fingers out, relishing the soft whine Kimblee gave at that. He tugged his pants down, struggling with the stupid buckles and belts and— _why didn’t they make these pants easier to remove?_? Finally he succeeded, and almost gasped at the feeling of spreading lube on his fingers and finally touching his cock—but he had to hold it together, because Kimblee was laying there under him, gasping and open and wanting, and he wanted to take him apart so badly. And he would.

He leaned over Kimblee, supporting himself with one hand, lining himself up with the other. Slowly, so painfully slowly, he slid in, while Kimblee threw his head back at the feeling and his eyebrows drew together, his mouth open.

Miles pushed in, painfully slowly, and despite all the preparation Kimblee was still tight, so tight, and so hot, and Miles had to concentrate not to lose it and start just fucking him into the mattress. No matter his hate for the other man, he still didn’t want it to hurt. At least, not _too_ badly.

"Ah, Miles…" Kimblee’s hands jerked against the cuffs, obviously wanting to grip onto Miles or, anything really, for some sort of purchase. " _Fuck_ , Miles…"

"You don’t get to call me that," Miles said, finally sliding in all the way with a soft groan, and despite his harsh words he rested his forehead on Kimblee’s. "If you want this, then you have to listen to what I say."

Kimblee gritted his teeth, visibly struggling between his pride and his obvious desire for Miles to fuck him silly. "Y-yes…sir."

The ‘sir’ part still drove Miles crazy, going straight to his cock, and he gripped Kimblee’s hips tightly as he began to thrust in and out, very slowly at first.

Kimblee kept panting heavily, biting his lip, trying to hold back any louder moans. "Dammit Miles, fuck me _harder_. I can take it."

"I know you can," Miles adjusted his grip, driving in even deeper, "but I want you to beg for it."

"You _bastard_ —ah," Kimblee groaned, loudly. Kimblee’s legs were wrapped around Miles’ waist, but Miles grabbed his legs by the ankles and pulled them up around his own shoulders, letting him thrust even deeper. " _Fuck_ , Miles, _please_ ," Kimblee moaned, and he was so tight around Miles’ cock, and he wanted to fuck him hard and fast and deep, but Miles didn’t want to come. Not yet. He wanted to see Kimblee fall apart, first.

He drove in hard, but not quite hard enough, just on the side of too slow and too little, that drove Kimblee crazy. Kimblee’s back was arching up off the mattress, and he was making these delicious, _delicious_ , broken noises of "Miles—fuck—ah…please _fuck_ me M-major" but Miles wanted _more_ , he wanted to hear Kimblee _scream_ , and he didn’t care who heard, but he wanted to make Kimblee bend to his will. This man who thought he was superior to most, who believed himself to be survival of the fittest and dominant over all, he wanted to make him bend to another’s will, especially Miles’ will, because wouldn’t that be something? The Ishvalan Murderer, pleading and begging to an Ishvalan?

Not only that, but Miles admitted to himself, only in his deepest thoughts, that he was incredibly attracted to the man. Those icy blue eyes under the long lashes, the pink, full lips that he fantasized about, wrapped around his cock, the long hair he wanted to pull and ah, fuck, Miles was going to come apart soon if he wasn’t careful…

 Kimblee’s hands were tugging hard against the handcuffs now, and Miles knew he would have marks there afterwards. He thought about Kimblee rubbing those sore cuff marks on his wrists tomorrow, and remembering tonight, and Miles had to bite his lip to keep from groaning. He wanted to hear Kimblee’s moans instead. Kimblee was getting louder, unable to keep himself from holding back, moaning _please_ and _Miles_ and _sir_ and Miles was having a hard time holding back, with those lovely, lovely sounds coming from Kimblee’s mouth.

He wasn’t going to be able to hold off for much longer. "Do you want to come?" he asked, bringing his hand up and, on a whim, wrapping it around Kimblee’s throat. Their eyes met, and Kimblee’s mouth opened, then he bit his lip to hold in a moan.

Miles squeezed his throat harder. Kimblee wasn’t able to hold in his moans this time. "Y- _yes_ I want to come, please Miles let me come…"

Kimblee was so vulnerable, and open, and wanting, under him, hands pinned back by the cuffs, flush spreading down to his chest, his cock so hard and untouched…Miles wondered if he could make Kimblee come just like this, without touching him at all.

"Do you want me to touch you?" Miles dragged his hand along Kimblee’s thigh, close to his cock, and he heard Kimblee’s breath hitch.

"I…yes, Miles, please," he managed to stutter out.

"No," Miles said, feeling power rushing through his veins at the sight of Kimblee’s eyes widening in surprise, then his head falling back. "I want to see you come just like this. And you can come when I tell you to."

At this Kimblee tilted his head back up, staring at Miles with wide eyes and his pretty, pretty lips parted. "I…Miles—"

"Haven’t you learned your lesson? It’s ‘Major’ to you, or do I have to teach you again?" Miles’ hand, which had fallen from Kimblee’s throat, came back up to press against the other’s neck again. Kimblee let out a broken moan at this. "You like being choked, don’t you? You like being pinned down and tied up and dominated?"

Kimblee didn’t answer, only breathed heavily as Miles kept on thrusting roughly into him.

"Well?" Miles started choking him harder. "I asked you a question."

"Y-yes sir," Kimblee stuttered out, obviously too far gone now to care about pride and appearances and _damn_ if that wasn’t hot. Miles was close now.

"Do you want to come?"

"Y-yes…Mil—Major…I want to come—"

Miles pressed down on his throat even harder, starting to fuck Kimblee faster, but just a little bit, just enough so that he wouldn’t come, not yet. "Ask nicely."

"Oh _god_ ," Kimblee’s body was just a taut line of tension now, head thrown back, hips arching off the bed, legs trembling on Miles’ shoulders. "I want to come _please_ sir please let me come—"

And that was enough for Miles, finally losing control as he fucked hard and fast into Kimblee who was so tight and hot and pleading, "please let me come sir" "oh fuck Miles" "don’t stop please" and Kimblee was coming hard and hot, and Miles followed soon after, rolling his hips as Kimblee’s moans trailed off into something incoherent.

Miles rested his forehead on Kimblee’s shoulder, holding him by the hips as they came together, breathing heavily. He stayed there like that, Kimblee’s legs still around his shoulders, until his heartbeat finally calmed down somewhat and he carefully tugged himself out of the tangle of limbs they had found themselves in. Kimblee winced as he pulled his legs free, sore from being in such a stretched position for such a long time. He lay back with a sigh, chest rising fast as he was still catching his breath.

After unfastening the handcuffs, Miles sat up slightly to grab some tissues from the nightstand to clean up. Then he collapsed down next to Kimblee, still coming down from his own orgasm. Both of them didn’t speak for a moment. Miles stared at Kimblee’s profile, cheeks still flushed, until Kimblee turned to look at him. He was almost enamored with the other’s blue, blue eyes, half-lidded, gazing at him with…fondness? They were so close together on the bed. It was Miles’ bed after all, which was only a single bed. He would have to lean over just a little bit to wrap his arm around Kimblee, and he was almost inclined to do so. They had just had a pretty intimate moment, after all...

Then Kimblee opened his mouth to speak, and any near-romantic thought Miles had was banished from his mind. "So, same time tomorrow?" Kimblee grinned devilishly.

"Fuck you." Miles turned around to face the wall, and closed his eyes to sleep.


End file.
